A Humble Village
by Marengo227
Summary: Grima has been defeated, the first generation of Shepherds avenged. The world has finally begun to recover, and all is well. That is, until a seemingly innocuous mission unearths a revelation that leaves Cynthia, Severa and Owain with a newfound burden to carry and a question they struggle to answer: What does one do when two old faces reemerge from the dead?


**Here's an idea I've had for a while. I'm unsure if I want this to just be a one-shot, or if I wanna do more with it. For now, though, consider it a one-and-done.**

* * *

"Man, feel that fresh air!" Cynthia stopped to stretch, holding her hands up high and smiling up at the bright midday sun. "You can't get this kind of weather in Ylisstol! Nu-uh, only in the countryside!" In front of her was a small settlement, one of the first since Grima's downfall to begin to truly thrive, despite being notably far from Ylisstol.

Behind Cynthia was Severa, frowning. "You're the restorer of the Pegasus Knights, start acting like it! Gods, and people say I act like a child." She looked around the village, putting on a clear façade of disinterest. "I dunno, doesn't seem all that impressive for me. Seems like scouting out here was a waste of time. If only _somebody_ didn't rope us into helping." She started to fix her hair, still getting used to letting it flow free rather than putting it in pigtails.

Severa turned her head to face Owain, who was currently distracted. When he noticed her gaze, he gulped nervously, letting out an equally nervous chuckle. "Oh come on Severa, we might as well look while we're here! Besides, perhaps we'll find a true diamond in the rough here! A hero destined to rise above his place of birth and discover his true calling amongst legends!"

"Legendarily annoying, sure," Severa responded dismissively, deflating Owain's enthusiasm quite a bit, leaving Cynthia scrambling to try and cheer him up. "I'm gonna start looking around. We should split up; it'll let us learn more info without wasting any more time than we need to." And with that, she was gone, heading into the village without even checking to see if everyone was on board with her plan.

"She does have a good point." Cynthia acknowledged to Owain as the two of them watched her walk off. "Even if she was a massive jerk about it. Though if you ask me, you're right; who knows what crazy hero we're gonna find?" That sparked a rather heated discussion between the two, attracting the attention of a few villagers. Eventually, a young woman approached the two.

"Are the two of you discussing heroes, then?" She asked, interrupting the discussion. Both Cynthia and Owain turned their heads to face her, looking at her bright smile and giving her a nod. "Oh yes, there's no doubt that we've got two bona fide heroes in our midst!"

The two of them then stood up straight, flashing poses for the woman. "Well, I'm glad you've noticed!" Owain exclaimed, his voice suddenly a few pitches deeper than before. "Yes, it is true that we're Naga's chosen heroes! However, we're part of a deeper group than that!"

Cynthia flashed a dazzling grin, holding up a thumb to her chin. "Yes, indeed! For you see, we make up a small group dedicated to stopping all evildoers we see! We vow always to keep the world safe! For you see, we are…"

The two of them swapped poses so they were leaning against eachother, flashing brilliant smiles. "THE JUSTICE CABAL!" They both hailed at the same time as if there were beams of sunlight shining down on them and a holy choir accompanying their every word. Then, as they snapped themselves out of their justice-fueled fantasy, they realized that the village girl was staring at them like they each had two heads.

"Ah, that's not really what I'm referring to…" The woman murmured, shattering the hopes of the two Shepherds in seconds. "I'm talking about Edward and Elizabeth!" Cynthia tilted her head while Owain inquired further on who those two were. "Oh, they're just fantastic. They showed up just as the village was getting built up, and they've been nothing but a huge help! Edward's been giving the town all sorts of advice on rebuilding, and he's also the town doctor. Elizabeth teaches all the children about mathematics, history, everything! Not to mention that they both also serve in the village militia."

Owain and Cynthia looked at eachother, and once again had the same thought. _Diamonds in the rough._ Cynthia looked back to the village woman with enthusiasm. "Ah, yes. Do you happen to know where these two live?"

"Sure do!" The woman pointed towards the back end of the village. "They live back near some of the first places built, in a nice little cabin near the woods. We've offered them separate houses, but those two cousins are just inseparable! Oh, and when you see them, give them a thanks from me! Elizabeth gave me some great gardening tips the other day, and they're already working wonders."

By the time they arrived at the cabin, Severa was already there, crossing her arms and staring up at it. "You two wound up here too?" She asked, tapping her foot on the ground. "Everywhere I went, I kept hearing about these two. It was seriously getting on my nerves, so I decided to come here to see if they're really the best thing ever. Still, you'd think they'd live somewhere a bit…nicer." It was true; the cabin seemed rather worn-down, almost giving off the vibe that a haunted house would. Although, the flower garden in front greatly helped in preventing that feeling.

"I think it's cute! Gives off a real 'homey' vibe!" Cynthia exclaimed before jogging up the front porch steps, knocking on the door. The other two looked up at her as she turned around to face them. "What? Someone had to knock."

"Just a minute!" A woman's voice called out from inside. Loud footsteps could be heard, getting closer by the second. "Is that you, Clarence? I told you, I won't be able to give you that lesson until tonight!" The door opened, and the woman stepped out with a book in hand. "Though I suppose I can spare a bit of time—" She looked up from the book and at Cynthia, going silent. There was a moment of recognition; a fraction of a second wherein both women realized who they were looking back at. The book fell to the ground, landing with a loud thud.

It was Morgan. She was here, in this little village in the middle of nowhere. She was alive. Was Marc alive? Was he here too? Gods, she looked so much older. No, older wasn't the word that fit. More mature. Refined. She wasn't slouching; an odd sight, one that Cynthia was unused to. It granted Morgan a grace that she never realized she had.

Cynthia's voice was quiet and hesitant. "Morgan?" Suddenly, the door slammed shut, leaving her and the book out on the front porch. It took her mind a few seconds to catch up with what had just happened, but as soon as it did, she turned around to face Severa and Owain. "Circle around, check for a back entrance! Don't let her get out!" It was clear by the confusion on their faces that they hadn't gotten a good look at her, but they didn't hesitate, each of them taking one side of the house and running to the back.

If it had been a few years earlier, Cynthia would have just stood there, dumbstruck and unable to muster a command. Even if she had, they wouldn't have been able to listen. Severa would have asked what was happening, and Owain would have waited for an answer. They weren't the same people they were a few years earlier. They had Morgan and Marc to thank for that.

The front door had been left unlocked, something that Morgan never would've allowed to happen unless she was hell-bent on wasting no time in escaping. Cynthia stepped over the book, not even sparing it a glance as she yanked the door open and ran inside, gazing around the interior of the cabin. It was much more well-kept than the outside, decently furnished and even containing a few useless decorations. She could see the back door hanging wide open, confirming her prediction as to where Morgan would go.

Not wasting another moment, Cynthia dashed right through the opening, seeing Morgan a fair ways away, trying to escape through the dense forest that surrounded the village. Severa was hot on her heels with Owain not far behind. Morgan was many things, for sure, but a fast runner she was not. In the space of a few seconds, Severa closed the gap and pinned her against a tree. Even from where she was, Cynthia knew that Morgan had hit the tree hard.

Before Severa could even yank Morgan's hands behind her back, the girl had collapsed into a sobbing heap, forcing the irritated woman to lift her up and drag her back to the cabin. As they got closer, Cynthia could hear Morgan whisper the words "I'm sorry" over and over, dozens of times as a cut on her forehead dripped blood down her face. It was a pitiful sight, but she saved her sympathy.

"Bring her inside, make sure she can't go anywhere." Cynthia ordered. "Owain, find some rope, or anything that'll keep her tied up." The prince looked to Morgan, his confusion and hesitation clear, but he didn't let it overwhelm him. They both nodded back at her and got to work.

In no time at all, they had Morgan on the floor, her hands tied behind her back by a rope that looped around a plank of wood that supported the roof of the cabin. She hadn't spoken a word since she was dragged inside, and that slouch of hers had returned, her head hanging as low as it could, given the rope held her somewhat upright. Her hair was longer than it used to be, but not by much, now hanging down to the base of her neck, though still just as messy as it used to be. She was wearing a heavy cloak, just like the Plegian one she used to wear, but it was instead colored a soft beige with no markings.

Severa found the sight of her to be too much. Finding out that she was alive was enough of a shock, but seeing her reduced to this made her gut twist. She had stepped outside for fresh air but ended up stepping on the book that had been left out front. Picking it up, she read over the title. _The Basic Theory of Mathematics: Volume One._ Skimming through a few pages, she saw simplistic math equations that slowly grew in complexity as the text went on, but what caught her attention was the handwritten notes covering just about every page.

 _Lila having troubles with her sevens, make extra time to tutor her._

 _Lessons too dry. Solutions: Card games? Physical objects to demonstrate? Ask the children?_

 _Clarence and Eliza learn faster than the rest. Prepare an advanced course for them._

 _Sadie backtalked during class again. Remember to inform her mother. Reminds me of Severa._

That last note just made her gut twist even tighter. She took the book back inside with her, tossing it in front of Morgan, who glanced up from the ground to look at it. "This is yours?" Severa asked, getting a nod in response. She almost made an insult but chose to bite her tongue. Whatever she would have said, it wouldn't have been justified.

She found Owain in one of the bedrooms, browsing through a small bookshelf that was packed to the brim. "They're all textbooks." He muttered to her, showing one about the history of Regna Ferox. "She's written all over most of them. She must've spent hours on these…" He went back to reading through it. The rest of the room was rather barren, with a bed and a few scraps of paper nailed to the walls. Most were drawings made by children, while a few others were essays or notes thanking "Elizabeth" for teaching them how to write.

Next to Morgan's bed was a small desk with a melted candle and a few stacks of paper sitting on top of it. It seemed that most of them were stacks of homework organized by subject, but the last one, curiously enough, was a diary. Not one to particularly care about privacy, Severa started reading through the most recent entry, the ink on the page still not entirely dry.

 _My glove got torn off by a stray tree branch today. I had to make up an excuse to the children so that I could get home and put on a new one. Sometimes I wonder if they'd all accept me and Marc anyways, even if they knew about our brands. The Brand of the Exalt is easy enough to hide; nobody would question why I'm covering my back, or Marc his arm, but most people don't wear gloves every day. I'm not sure if everybody believes our lie about covering up burns._

 _I still hear people talk about the Grimleal. Ms. Ashton lost her husband to them. Thomas was orphaned by them. Sadie still tries to hide the scar on her face by growing out her hair to cover it. One of these days it'll actually grow long enough to work._

 _Were we the cause? Did we craft a plan that put Thomas's parents in harm's way? Was Mr. Ashton collateral damage from one of our strategies? If we hadn't helped, would Sadie have never been attacked?_

 _Funny. I say "helped" like we were just passive assistance. Like we weren't the brains behind the whole thing. Like we didn't do plenty of killing ourselves. We're helping make a home here, for people who have nowhere else to go, but how many people only have nowhere else to go because we burned away any other options they had?_

 _They'll learn someday. Hopefully, it'll be through this, the diary they find after I'm dead. Whether that be later or sooner. Maybe dying is the best way I can atone. One less Grimleal to taint the earth, right? No point in dragging things out. Marc would be furious if he heard me say that. That's why I'm writing it instead. I must, because if I don't get my thoughts out somehow, something's gonna give._

Severa's gut kept twisting, feeling like it was going to rip itself apart. She set down the diary and exited the room, watching Owain continue to read through the textbooks. There was still one other room she hadn't checked, and she had a feeling she knew what it was. Opening the door, she saw Cynthia sitting down at the edge of what must have been Marc's bed, holding a piece of paper. Glancing up at Severa, she tried to rub her eyes before she could notice the flecks of tears that had formed. "Weren't you supposed to keep an eye on her?"

"She's not going anywhere." Severa said dismissively, sitting next to the Pegasus Knight. "What've you got there?" Cynthia paused, looking back down at it before sheepishly handing it to her. She took one look at it before feeling her heart skip a beat. It was art, clearly Brady's judging by the style of it. It displayed a large tree, with Cynthia, Owain, Marc, and Morgan sitting underneath it, talking and goofing off. The words "Justice Cabal" were written on the top.

Severa didn't say anything else. She wasn't sure she could. Instead, she silently handed the art back to Cynthia before standing up and walking out of the room, eventually finding herself back in the small kitchen where Morgan still sat, the mathematics book still in front of her. After all that time, she finally had an insult that wasn't going to make her gut twist any more than it already had. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Morgan lifted her head up, giving Severa a startled look. There was a long silence where neither girl spoke, instead just looking at each other. Morgan opened her mouth, finally beginning to speak. "I…"

Severa didn't give her the chance to finish. She didn't _want_ to give her the chance to finish. Morgan didn't _deserve_ to have the chance to finish. "You betray all of us, you get people killed, you try to help Grima end the whole damn world, and after he was defeated, _then_ you suddenly got cold feet about all of it? Like hell you did. I'll tell you exactly what happened." She got down on one knee, so they were at eye level. "You lost. We stopped you. You thought you could run away and live the rest of your lives in a cozy little village in the middle of nowhere, but guess what, Morgan? That's not how life works. When you make mistakes, you have to deal with the consequences of those mistakes."

Severa almost kept yelling, but then she realized that she had driven the poor girl to tears. "I-I didn't—" A choked hiccup stopped Morgan from finishing, but it also gave her precious time to rearrange her thoughts. "We didn't want this. We didn't want any of this. We…" She let out a gasp of air. "We just wanted mom back…"

"You didn't see Lucina using that excuse, did you? She saw that thing pretending to be Robin as exactly that; a pretender. Meanwhile, the two of you followed behind her like a pair of lapdogs, just _salivating_ at the chance to make her happy."

Morgan's voice grew more agitated upon hearing that. "Don't you dare try and claim that we enjoyed any of it! Do you think we're _proud_ of the things we did?" Severa expected her to keep going, to shout and scream at her. Hell, she almost wanted her to, but that's not what she did. Instead, she took a breath. "I'm sorry. I…lost my temper."

Severa had no idea how to respond to that. Here was Morgan, the girl who had worked so hard to take everything away from her. The girl who had killed Minerva and almost murdered Gerome along with her. The girl whose brother gave Brady his scar and crippled Laurent. She had done so much to hurt everyone, and yet here she was, apologizing for losing her temper. What could Severa even say to that? After a few moments that felt like an eternity, she spoke. "Where's Marc?"

Morgan looked back down to the floor. "He's doing his weekly patrols for the village militia. He won't be back for a few hours, at least." Severa stood up and began to walk back to Marc's room, to tell Cynthia, but Morgan stopped her. "What are you going to do now? Are you going to drag us back to Ylisstol, put us on trial and let the others make sure we know how much they loathe us? Or are you going to just kill us here and now?"

Once again, Severa had no answer. For some reason, the thought of killing them made her feel sick to her stomach. She supposed that taking them to Ylisstol was the better option, but then she remembered the villagers. Taking Morgan and Marc away would deny them the help they needed, the doctor that knew enough to actually treat most of his patients, the teacher who could give the children an education that would let them accomplish exponentially more than they would without. But they had to face justice, otherwise, Severa would be spitting on the graves of everyone that died because of them.

She hated choices like this. They were the worst parts of the war, and their absence was one of her favorite things about peace. There was no way she could decide so soon, so she didn't. Instead, she simply shrugged and said, "I don't know." She hoped that her faux indifference was convincing enough to fool Morgan, but somehow, she doubted it.

Owain was tasked with making sure the villagers didn't realize anything was wrong. None of them liked lying like this, but they all agreed that they needed to avoid any confrontations until they figured out exactly what they were going to do. So, he made sure word started spreading around that the mysterious officials from Ylisstol were talking with Elizabeth about the possibility of her and Edward moving to the capital and assisting the Shepherds. Everyone may have begun giving him skeptical looks, none too pleased about the prospect of losing such vital members of the community, but at the very least they bought it.

With nothing to do but wait until Marc returned from his patrol, Owain finally had time to digest everything that had happened. Severa was furious, that was easy to see, and Cynthia seemed confused as to what she was supposed to feel. Personally, he was somewhat happy, something that surprised him. Perhaps it was the blood relation; finding out two of one's cousins are alive and well is reason enough to celebrate. Well, that is, when they're not criminals.

That was the thought that Owain kept clinging to even as part of his mind wanted him to be overjoyed. _They aren't the same Morgan and Marc you knew,_ he thought to himself. _They haven't been since that day._ The memory threatened to reemerge and inflict more guilt upon him, so he pushed it back into the corners of his mind. Instead, he focused on the numerous memories of them outsmarting Lucina and the others, almost ending their lives dozens of times. He almost wished he never grew up with them, because then they never would've grown up with him. They never would've learned all his weaknesses, and they wouldn't have been able to capitalize on them so well.

He supposed he wasn't exactly one to complain, especially considering it was nothing compared to what Lucy had gone through. Those three siblings were tightly knit together, and being abandoned nearly broke her heart. She had told Owain more than once that part of the reason she kept fighting was so that she could finally find Marc and Morgan, to ask them why they did it, to have that closure they kept denying her. Of course, she never got that. Not with the way they went out.

He was there for it, actually. Lucina thought it best that he not directly confront Grima; after all, if they were both there and something went wrong, the Exalted bloodline would only have two people left, and both of them served Grima. He hated that the plan revolved around the possibility of her death, but he didn't object. Besides, that put him in charge of a part of the plan that Lucina wouldn't dare take part of. He had to stop Marc and Morgan.

Those two had set up so many backup plans, diversions, ambushes and escape routes that Owain once thought that they had enough to get them across the entire continent. Of course, that wasn't the case, and after losing a few more people along the way, he had finally caught up to them. By that point, he was exhausted, bruises and cuts all over his body. The twins knew this and immediately took advantage.

"You look exhausted, Owain." Marc taunted, though without the glee or giddiness that many of Grima's other henchmen would display. Gods, just thinking of them as henchmen made Owain feel awful. "We'll give you a choice. Turn away now, and we won't follow. You can be on your merry way. If you don't, we'll cut you down." Morgan readied her Thoron tome while Marc raised his Levin Sword, inherited from their mother.

Owain just stared at them in disbelief, even after he had so long to accept their new allegiances. "What happened to you?" He looked back and forth between the two of them. "We used to play together, as kids. We and Cynthia formed the Justice Cabal, remember? We swore to eachother that we were always going to fight evil." His hand tightened around his sword until his knuckles turned white. "We _swore_ to eachother! So why…" His tightened grip began to falter as his arm shook. "…Why are you doing this?"

Morgan was silent, and Owain swore he saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes. Marc's gaze was unflinching, unfaltering. "We were kids. The world isn't what we thought it was, and it never was. How can you try to fight against injustice when it's all the world is?"

"That's not true!" Owain shouted back, but somehow even he doubted it. He looked around at the ruined altar they had wound up in, nothing but dead grass around them and barely supported stone hanging over them. It was dead in every sense of the word.

"Then tell me, Owain, what was justified about Aunt Lissa's death!" Hearing that made Owain's blood truly _boil_ for one of the few times in his life. "Or Uncle Lon'qu, or father, or mother! Where was the 'justice' in any of it!? None of it matters! It never mattered, and it never will!" Marc was practically ranting by that point, sounding more and more desperate, as if he was even trying to convince himself. Morgan took a step away from him, looking almost afraid.

"Grima was the one who took them all away, and you're working for him! What would your parents say if they saw you dishonoring their memory like this!?" He pointed to the Levin Sword in Marc's hand. "You tarnish her memory every day you use that sword to serve Grima. Every day. You abandoned us, you abandoned the life she wanted for you!"

"SHE'S GONE!" Marc screamed, his eyes wide with the desperation that continued to bubble up, on the verge of pouring over. "Lord Grima's all we have left, he's the only thing that can come close to understanding us! Why does what mother wanted for us matter when she's not here anymore!?"

"You have Lucy, Marc! You have me! We understand, we're family!" By that point, Owain wasn't even sure himself why he was still pleading, still trying to convince them of something that they were firmly against.

"No, you don't understand!" Marc held up his other hand, putting the Brand of Grima on it in full view. "She doesn't have this. She never had enough of Grima in her to ever feel his presence. Do you _understand_ what it's like to have this feeling, this unquenchable desire to destroy everything? Do you _understand_ what it's like to slowly lose more and more of yourself to it until one day you look at your older sister and can only think of killing her!?"

Hearing that made Owain's heart wrench. Was that really what had been happening, the whole time? Had they been struggling with this all their lives? "No, Marc, you're right. I don't understand. I shouldn't pretend to understand. But we can stop Grima, here and now. We can end this, we can stop that desire from taking you over! We can save both of you!"

Marc didn't say anything in response to that. Just as Owain thought he was finally getting through to them, Morgan took a step forward and spoke. "No, Owain. You can't save us." Her voice was hoarse, putting the true depths of her sadness on display. "Nobody can."

Before Owain could say anything else, there was a loud boom that shook the ground around them, as if the ground was going to break apart. It wasn't the ground, however, that was breaking. Nah, in her Manakete form, burst through the ceiling of the ruins, sending massive chunks of stone down. Owain felt as if it happened in slow motion, but yet he couldn't stop it. Just as he was about to shout a warning, the rubble fell right where the twins were standing.

And then they were gone. Just like that. There was no time to check for their bodies; they still had a battle to fight. When Grima was forced into slumber once again and the dust had settled, they still never found Marc and Morgan's bodies. Owain assumed that they had been crushed to the point where there weren't any bodies to find.

He was wrong. He was oh, so wrong. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to rejoice at this or be very, very afraid. He remembered what Morgan had said to them, right before Nah arrived. _You can't save us. Nobody can._ He had failed to help them, he had failed to save them. And now here they were, hiding in one of the most secluded places in Ylisse. The village could have very easily gone unnoticed by the kingdom until they or Owain were long dead. Lucina could have not given the order to send out scouts to survey the village and try to find out how they were doing so well. She could have not tasked Owain with this responsibility. They could have come on a day where Marc and Morgan were both out on patrol, and never ran into them. The discovery of their existence in this place was one in a million, and that's why they picked it.

Was it a sign, then, that they were found anyways? Was it more than pure luck, but rather a second chance for Owain to set things right? Was this finally a real chance for him to help them understand, to change their ways? Or, as the textbooks in Morgan's room and the illustration in Marc's suggested, were they already reformed? If that was the case, what was he supposed to do?

Owain couldn't find an answer to this conundrum. Instead, he turned his attention back to the real world, back to the problem at hand. What were they going to do about those two? He began to head back to the cabin, seeing that the sun had gone down and that the villagers were all asleep in their homes. Marc must have returned already, and no doubt, he was already being questioned. He needed to be there for it, to see what he could do.

He wished he had been paying less attention to his own thoughts and more to his surroundings. Maybe then he would have seen the figure tailing him. Maybe then he wouldn't have let that figure sneak up right behind him, holding a dagger to his throat. "I hoped it wasn't true." Marc muttered in his ear, the cold steel of the blade shocking Owain's senses. "Next time you want to get the villagers to not grow suspicious, you might want to tell them a story that won't let me know that I'm walking into a trap. Now, let's go."

Cynthia knew that something was wrong. Owain had not arrived back at the cabin, despite how late it had become. Marc also hadn't appeared, despite Morgan's claims that he would return much earlier. Something wasn't adding up, and she had learned from far too many mistakes that there were never any coincidences when it came to those two. What would be considered merely bad luck in any other circumstance was nearly never the case when facing Marc and Morgan. They knew how to plan, they knew how to scheme, and they were good at it. Lucina had taken after her father more, but those two were certainly their mother's children.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a voice. "Who's in there? I know Owain isn't alone." Marc's voice. Cynthia felt her heart sink. "Speaking of, he's now my hostage. I suggest you cooperate so that I don't have to do anything drastic." Morgan's eyes were fixed at the door as Severa emerged from one of the rooms, having heard the noise.

Cynthia didn't want to lie. Even if Marc didn't have Owain and was merely bluffing, she had no desire to lie. Trust was hard to build, especially after it had been shattered before. "It's me, Cynthia. Severa's here too." The redhead shot her a bewildered glance, but she ignored it. "We've got Morgan tied up. I hope you understand why."

"Yeah, I get it." He sounded almost tired, though it was hard to fully tell with his voice being muffled from behind the door. "So you'll understand why I took a hostage of my own. It's always good to have insurance."

"She's not a hostage, Marc!" She shouted, trying to find some way she could make him understand. "We tied her up because we don't know if she's dangerous. We don't know if _you're_ dangerous. Let go of Owain. We can talk through this. Just let him go."

There was a pause. Marc spoke up again. "Your diplomatic skills have improved, I'll give you that. If it were anyone else you were talking to, that probably would've gotten you somewhere. Not me, though. We're going to make a trade. You give me Morgan, and I give you Owain. That's the only option that results in nobody getting hurt."

No, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen! They were supposed to sit down, to talk about everything! If she let him have Morgan, they'd certainly be able to escape the village, and they'd lose them all over again. She couldn't let that happen, not after finding out they were still alive. She couldn't bear it.

Wait…the village. The village! "Marc, you know what'll happen if we hand her over. You two will have to run away, to leave the village for good. I don't think you want that, and I'm certain that Morgan doesn't want that. You care about these people, and they care about you. Don't throw that away."

There was a longer pause, and each second that filled it only made her worry. What was Marc thinking? Was he going to harm Owain? Was he going to listen to her? Was he going to insist on the trade regardless? Surprisingly, the voice that next spoke wasn't his, and it wasn't her own. It was Morgan's.

"Marc, do what they say!" The girl shouted. Severa made a move to cover her mouth, but Cynthia grabbed her arm to stop her. "Let Owain go. I…" She let out a heavy breath. "I trust Cynthia. If you can't do the same, then trust me. Don't do something you're going to regret. We've…we've done enough of that already."

The air around them seemed to still, frozen in place as tensions reached a peak. Then, a voice broke through. "Cynthia?" It was Owain. "He…he let me go. You can open the door now." Despite things having gone well so far, she couldn't help but fear it was yet another trap. Severa, however, didn't hold the same fear. She approached the door and opened it, seeing Owain standing outside without a scratch on him. "I'm sorry, I should've seen him. It's my fault this happened."

"We can chew you out later, idiot." There was a strange sense of affection in Severa's voice, despite the cold insult. Owain gave a small nod, stepping inside and revealing the figure behind him. He wore simple clothing; a beige shirt with a small tear near the bottom and brown pants that seemed a little short on him. Those two had always worn cloaks, so it never ceased to shock Cynthia when she saw just how skinny they both were. She was reminded of a sapling that a strong gust of wind could knock over in an instant.

Of course, Marc was no sapling. Far from it; aside from Grima himself, he and Morgan were by far the most dangerous adversaries they had faced. Those two had hunted them to the ends of the earth and vice versa in a deadly game that seemed to never end. And now, here he was, the son of both Naga's and Grima's descendants, wearing dirt-stained clothes that reeked of manure.

Cynthia giggled. Against her better judgment, she didn't stop giggling at the sight of him. The others looked at her like she had gone mad. Marc looked genuinely nervous for the first time in years. "W-what? What's so funny?"

"Your clothes!" Cynthia exclaimed, continuing her giggling. Marc's face lit up bright red as his embarrassment was made clear. "They're just so…so…" She couldn't even finish, her giggling having transformed into full-on laughter.

"You may not have noticed, Cynthia, but we don't exactly have any first-class tailors around here!" The boy stammered, taking a few steps closer until he was in the doorway. "Besides, it's rich coming from you. You used to smell like Pegasus dung every single day!"

Cynthia scoffed. "I haven't smelled like that in years, I'll have you know! In fact, I've had some men tell me that I smell rather nice, so hah!" She raised her hand for emphasis, but when Marc's hand shot down to the dagger hanging from his belt, she was forced to remember that they couldn't just ignore what had happened. She took a step back, her laughter now silenced. "Alright. Let's talk."

Marc nodded. "Let's talk." He repeated. In no time at all, they were all situated at the dining table, the twins having procured spare chairs they had in the attic. Morgan had been untied, which went a long way in easing his worries, even if he didn't fully believe that the cut on her forehead had been an accident. They sat next to eachother, naturally, with her eyes glued to her lap while he tried to look brave. There was no hiding how scared they both were.

The obvious question came first. "Why did you leave?" Cynthia asked. "Why did you murder a guard and take off for Plegia? What made you do it?" When they first discovered that they were gone, it had been assumed that they had been kidnapped by Grima's forces. Of course, that eventually was proven to be a false assumption.

"It wasn't…" Morgan almost stopped talking, but she gathered up another breath and continued. "It wasn't murder. You know that we were never welcomed by everybody in the palace. Lucina was the exception. She could wield Falchion. She didn't have Grima's brand. We did. Do you remember the nickname for us, the one that kept spreading around no matter how much mother and father tried to stop it? Not that it mattered much; as soon as they perished, it all started back up."

Owain nodded, holding his hands together on the table. "The Exalted Wretches. There were people who thought Robin had poisoned the Exalted bloodline by marrying Chrom and having you three. Lucina managed to avoid that stigma, but you two…I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what he was even apologizing for.

"Well, something had to give eventually." Marc said with a matter-of-fact tone. "It was after Cherche fell. That guard told us that he wanted Grima to feel pain for once. He said he was doing the world a favor by cutting us down. We tried to get out of our room without hurting him, but then he grazed my arm. Morgan just…"

"Snapped." Morgan finished for him. "Everything went so fuzzy, like I was underwater. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest." Her hands trembled in her lap. "I heard him. I heard him tell me that I had to fight back, that I had to kill him or else he'd kill me, he'd kill Marc!" Her breathing had already grown heavier. "He'd dropped his sword, he'd left himself open. I had to capitalize on it, I had to make sure I killed him before he could kill us! It's not my fault, what else was I supposed to do!?" Her voice had raised considerably, and just as it seemed like she was about to break down, Marc set a gentle hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of it. She practically shrank back, going quiet once again.

"We knew it wasn't safe for us anymore." The regret in Marc's voice was apparent. "We left. At first, we didn't know where we were going to go, but then he started talking to us again. We tried to ignore him, so he started using mother's voice. He told us all about how much everyone had secretly hated us. He said that Lucy was glad that she didn't have to deal with us weighing down her reputation. He said that Noire and Laurent were glad we weren't annoying them anymore. He said Yarne was relieved to not be around us, that we terrified him to no end. After so long, we started to believe it. Everyone else loathed us; what made any of you different?"

Morgan spoke once again. "Grima offered us a home. When we slept, he showed it to us in our dreams. A temple that stood proudly in the harsh desert, one that was filled with warm smiles and people who didn't care who our mother was or what brand we had. They were the only people who cared about us. Everyone else was lying so that they could stab us in the back."

Even Marc couldn't stop his hands from shaking by this point. It was clear that the memories were still vivid in their minds. Morgan continued. "We bit the bait. It was only a matter of time. We were always cold and hungry, and he offered warm beds and food. We were scared and confused, and he told us we could have a purpose. We…we were just kids…what were we supposed to do?" Severa didn't know if it was rhetorical, or if Morgan really did want to know what they did wrong, what they should've done. It hurt to admit it, but she knew she would've done the same thing in their shoes.

"At first, we didn't have to fight. He let us read all sorts of books about history, physics, strategy…gods, there were so many books about strategy. It was like he knew everything mother loved. We were close to him day and night, and that let him change our memories. He knew we'd catch on if he did anything drastic, so it was always subtle. A smile changed into a frown. A compliment suddenly seemed more back-handed. We started believing more and more that any love that we'd received from anyone but our parents was just fake. Our parents were gone. He was all we had left."

Marc took over, seeing that Morgan had grown more uncomfortable after talking so much about it. "One day, we saw him. He had always been a presence until then, like a needle scraping the backs of our minds. Then, like it was nothing, he was there, wearing mother's face. She told us how good we had been, how much we had grown since she last saw us. She called us the same nicknames she used when we were little. We knew it wasn't really her, but we wanted it to be, so we just kept pretending."

Owain felt a distinct unease fill his chest as he imagined Grima using his aunt to pull them deeper and deeper into his web. Marc seemed to take note, but said nothing of it, continuing their story. "She told us about the war. She said that you all were fighting to tear apart our home, that you wanted to find us and put us down, like we were rabid dogs. She had poisoned our memories so much by that point that we didn't even doubt the possibility of it. She asked if we'd serve as her tacticians, to help her win the war so that we could keep our home safe." He swallowed. "We said yes."

Severa spoke up for the first time in a while. "What happened once it was all over? What happened when Grima was defeated?" There was no indifference or sarcasm in her voice, only genuine care that she almost never showed otherwise.

"We felt it, of course." Marc answered. "Morgan started sobbing. I just wanted to puke. Everything was back to what it was like before we joined Grima, except nobody was looking for us. By all accounts, we were dead. Over time, our memories started to heal. We realized how much we had been deceived, how many lies he had fed to us. It didn't change what we did, but at least we could hope to become better. That's when we discovered this place."

Morgan was much more comfortable discussing the village. "It was only a half-dozen people at first. They were refugees from all over the continent who just…happened to end up in the same place. They needed help that we could give. So we approached them, calling ourselves Edward and Elizabeth, claiming we were cousins that lost any other family during the war. Grima taught us how to be good liars."

Neither of them spoke after that. They had no reason to, having finished their story. Cynthia collected her thoughts as best as she could, then gave them a response. "You're coming back to Ylisstol with us. You're going to tell them the same story you told us, and then you're going to receive whatever punishment is deemed best for you." Neither of them argued. They just sat there, dejected.

There were a few more knocks on the front door, putting everyone on edge. At first, nobody knew who it could be, until Morgan gasped and stood up. "Clarence! Oh, I forgot all about the lesson I was supposed to give him!" Before anybody could stop her, she dashed to the front door and opened it up, gazing down upon a small blonde child. He smiled up at her.

"Hey, Ms. Elizabeth! I'm here for my lesson!" The boy declared cheerily. "I'm real sorry about bothering you. I only missed the lesson with Eliza because one of the others dared me to lick some mud. Good thing Mr. Edward made me A-OK!" He finally noticed the group sitting at the dining table. "O-oh, that's a lot of people. Are you too busy? I can come back tomorrow!"

Morgan shook her head, putting on the best smile she could for the boy. "No, no, of course not. Come inside." She shut the door behind him as he entered and grabbed her chair, dragging it over to an empty space. "We'll just have to use this as our table." Grabbing the math textbook from the ground, she opened it up and she and Clarence kneeled on opposite sides of the chair. Nobody dared interrupt them. "Alright, I'm gonna teach you something really tough, but also really cool; fractions!" It was as if all her anxieties and sadness had melted away. The girl in front of them wasn't the Morgan who had tried to kill them, or the one who had helped the Grimleal further their awful plans. She was the same Morgan who helped form the Justice Cabal, the girl who made Brady and Gerome battle eachother for her entertainment, back when the two boys both had crushes on her. She was the same Morgan who seemed to never be fazed by any of Severa's insults, who played with Cynthia no matter how much she smelled like Pegasus dung, who Owain would catch late at night, burning a candle until it was a puddle of melted wax, pouring over her mother's favorite strategy book to try and understand everything about it.

But she was also different. She was more mature, more refined, more graceful. Her voice was softer, more patient as she guided Clarence through the basics of division. "I carry the…the…" The boy struggled to answer until Morgan held up three gloved fingers, pretending to hide it from the others as she gave him a sly wink. "The three!" He exclaimed triumphantly, winking back, believing her help to be their secret. At that moment, she wasn't nervous, she wasn't afraid, she wasn't worried about the future or what was going to happen to her. She just worried about making sure Clarence understood how division worked. She wasn't slouching, either.

Clarence left with a smile that was even brighter than when he came in, telling her that he'd absolutely show up for the lesson with Eliza next time, and that he'd never lick mud again. Morgan doubted that last part. Even after the door was shut and she no longer had to put on a brave face, her smile still lingered.

Severa had enough of it all. She stood up abruptly from her chair and stared Morgan right in the eyes. "We'll leave at dawn. No point in sticking around any longer in this dump of a village. Not like there was anything important in it anyways." Everybody looked at her, confused. "Lucina will just have to accept that this village is doing well because everybody in it is trying their damned best. Especially the town doctor and the town teacher." Her gaze turned to Cynthia and Owain. "There's nothing else to tell her."

They had both caught on by this point. "Severa, is it really our call to do this—" Owain began to ask, but Severa shut him down without a second thought.

"I don't give a crap whose call it is. I'm making the call right now. End of story." At that moment, Severa seemed almost like her mother, with long red hair flowing down past her shoulder blades, a sharp gaze that radiated authority, and a conviction that wasn't going to be shaken.

Cynthia saw Marc and Morgan's bewildered looks, and then stood up. "She's right. It's a shame we didn't find any legendary heroes here, isn't it?" Suddenly, two sets of eyes were on Owain, each boring into his soul.

He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Right. A true shame." Before they were even open, Morgan had her arms wrapped around him, giving him the tightest hug he had ever felt in his life. She relented after he let out a somewhat worrisome gasp for air, stepping back and holding her hands together behind her back.

Marc was far warier than his sister. "Why? Why would you do this, after everything that's happened, everything we've done?" He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. It didn't make any sense.

"You're helping these people." Cynthia answered simply, a hint of a smile visible on her face. "Consider that your punishment." Hearing that, Marc had no idea what to say or do. He felt something wet on his cheek, and as he moved his hand up to see what it was, he watched a droplet of water fall from his eyelashes and hit the floor.

"Marc…?" Morgan walked to his side, worried that something was wrong. When she saw what was happening, emotion welled up in her own heart, threatening to spill tears of her own, whether she wanted to or not.

Morgan rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, followed by gentle whimpers, which were followed by croaks and gasps of sadness and regret, but also of happiness and gratitude. He only managed to say one thing in the middle of his sobbing.

"Thank you."

As the sun rose that morning, the three of them set off, returning to Ylisstol. When Lucina asked them if there was anything special that contributed to the village's success, they all gave the same answer. Nothing noteworthy. Just houses and the people living in them.


End file.
